


Shiritori

by GasolineBreeze



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen, I did my best, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not shouta, Slow Build, first work in a long time, time jumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasolineBreeze/pseuds/GasolineBreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that follows the development of Gohan and Piccolo's relationship. Starts during the Vegeta Saga and will go from there. I fully plan on this becoming a M/M story but as of the first chapter, it is just General so you can read it however you'd like. (: The title comes from the Japanese word game that Gohan (attempts) to play with Piccolo while training for the Saiyans. Not really relevant to the content I just liked the name??</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiritori

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting here and my first time writing DBZ! I grew up watching it but just recently decided to rewatch the series and MAN, Piccolo & Gohan is all I can think about!  
> I try to make my work as canon-compliant as possible (obvious caveats aside) so please, if you notice a mistake, do not hesitate to tell me! This work is not beta'd (feel free to contact me if you're interested, though!) and I haven't even really given this first chapter a good editing so I apologize for any glaring mistakes. I will make updates and edits as necessary, but I figured it couldn't hurt to go ahead and post just this one chapter. Get some roots down...  
> Anyways, enjoy!

“Are you the same Piccolo mom and dad talk about? From the tournament…?” A glint of curiosity rolls around Gohan’s dark irises as the question—innocent in nature, invasive in practice—leaves his tongue. Meditating across the campfire, Piccolo renders an affirming grunt, but doesn’t bother to open his eyes. Flames lick their feet enthusiastically.

This kid was nosy.

He hated nosy kids.

He hated kids, _period_.

 

It had been just over a month since he took over mentoring Son Goku’s brat, and between the verbal lashings and physical beatings, he’d think the kid would resent him. Hate him. Loathe Piccolo’s presence and regret he ever ran away from sight of his home. Yet here he was: inquisitive, and unafraid. Constantly spouting off nonsense with an overeager attitude. The gall.

A small voice buzzed in Piccolo’s ear from across the fire. Great. It’s speaking again.  
  
“… they told me really scary stories about ‘Piccolo’…”  
The ‘Piccolo’ in reference smirks. Finally this brat was getting it.  
“… but there’s no way that could’ve been you! You’re way too nice to have done such awful things.”  
  


Green eyelids snap open; pupils contract to mere dots in a sea of stark white. Piccolo’s smirk contorts into a heavy frown, and his brows knot even deeper into each other. Gohan beams and giggles, unaware—or perhaps, ignoring—the two black points carving into him. To think the once great King Piccolo Jr. would take such impudence from the spawn of his very own nemesis. It would be laughable were he not so greatly stunned at himself. This wasn’t the first infraction he let slip, either. Piccolo catalogued more than several occasions over these past seven months of his being “soft”. It is an alarming trend. Just a year ago he was training harder than ever before in order to finally take down that annoying Son, firmly placing the end-goal of world domination in his sights. Now he was playing nanny to a mini-Goku-- same stupid smile and everything. Even saved him from mortal wounding on a few occasions; who’d of thought.

A yawn escapes Gohan, and the young Son felt the drain of today’s training taking its toll. Still ignorant of his mentor’s seething stare, the boy curls up into a ball and finds the warmth from the fire on his back soothing. Like his mother patting him to sleep as she often did, a hushed lullaby on her lips. Within moments, he is gone, taken in by dreams of his parents, science textbooks, and sour apples.

 

“Tch.”

Unbelievable. The kid fell asleep after making such a vulgar remark. And he didn’t even flinch when Piccolo stared him down! This was getting _too_ strange. Shaking his head in disgust, Piccolo squeezes his eyes closed again, determined to meditate out whatever bit of unwelcome mercy had crept into him. Upon re-centering himself, finding solace in the internal void he had created, he began his meditative chants and mantras. Finding repetition works best to expand his mental capacities, the baritone of his inner-voice calmly commanded: I am King Piccolo Jr., terror to the world, and ultimate evil. All will fall underfoot, and none shall be spared. I am King Piccolo Jr., terror to the world, and ultimate evil. All will fall underfoot, and none shall be spared. I am King Piccolo Jr., terror to the world, and ultimate evil. All will fall underfoot and none shall be spared. I am King Piccolo Jr., terror to the world, and ultimate evil. All will fall underfoot and none shall be spared. I am King Piccolo Jr., terror to the world… and ultimate evil... All will fall underfoot… and none shall be spared.

I

King Piccolo Jr.,

Terror,

Evil,

Fall,

Spared.

Spared.

Spared.

 

Piccolo’s rhythmic words broke down, hanging limp in the air of his mind. Like a whisper, a creeping sense of unease quietly bore itself in his thoughts, and lingered. The form it took mimicked the face of the boy sleeping a few feet away. He was smiling, giggling, facing the menacing Piccolo with an expression entirely foreign to him. Something akin to delight. Would he know a delighted face if he saw one? So many unsolicited, alien feelings that troubled him.

Finding his disquieted mind growing even _worse_ with meditation, Piccolo uncrossed his legs and stood on solid ground with a huff. How disappointed he was with himself. Above him the clear night sky twinkled, and the winds stood still. It was this place that irritated him. Too quiet. Too calm. Too peaceful. So unlike how most of the days of his life transpired. A change of scenery would be best, he decided. Go and look for a fight, maybe lift another pyramid or two—anything to get the blood going. Before taking off, Piccolo glanced over to Gohan’s sleeping form despite himself. While unsure of what exactly he was looking for, he _did_ find a peculiar sensation form in his gut, and dive to his fingertips. They tingled as he stretched them out and balled them into a fist, as if to squeeze the feeling out.

 

A final “tch.” before flight.


End file.
